.5. Old Crock Poem by David Threadgold

At the bottom of our garden
A man dressed all in green
Was sitting on a mushroom
Trying to work out where he’d been

Last night out with the fairies
Fell asleep and woke up cold
Not knowing where the party was
And he’d lost his crock of gold

He remembered drinking nectar
From a cowslip for a mug
And dancing with the elfin folk
As they did the jitterbug

A leprechaun without his crock
Like a wheel without a spoke
It wouldn’t get you anywhere
Which left poor Seamus broke

So he summoned up his magic
Wished hard that it would rain
A rainbow touched the garden shed
And he found his crock again


© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes